


Getting Over Peter Hale

by orphan_account



Series: Reality Hurts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Break Up, Drunk Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time Topping, Loneliness, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8679829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stiles starts the next part of his life in the shadow of his relationship with Peter. It gives him the time and space to reflect on what has happened.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 _And the worst thing about all of this is that I used to feel so loved, and so safe, with you. That I could wake up every day, and even though the rest of my life wasn’t always perfect, or easy, or even functioning at times. I had this gift, and it was that you loved me. That I was important to you. And that the person who I was_ meant _something to you._

 

_I probably took it for granted, but even that was a gift. That I’d managed to reach a point where I felt like I deserved to feel loved. That I was a good enough person that someone else would love me._

 

_And now all of that is gone._

 

_That place that your love was, is now a vacuum. And I’m discovering how all these other bits of my person was built on that love, and they’re just falling apart. I miss you like a limb, but it’s that deep seated ache that is the absence of the love I used to feel that I’m sure might just kill me._

 

_Maybe I wasn’t deserving. Maybe I was too selfish. Too childish. Too demanding. Too awful. Too entitled. Too much. Too much. Too much._

 

_Maybe you, like so many other people in my life, saw who I really was and decided it wasn’t really worth the effort._

 

_I keep looking over what happened, trying to find the moment. That second when you looked at me and thought ‘it was a mistake to fall in love with you.’_

 

_I don’t think I’ll ever get over that._

 

_I don’t think I’ll ever truly feel whole again. Because it wasn’t just you. It was me. It was me and all my failings. And when you took away your love, you did the worst thing. You left me with myself. It was me... It was me. It was me. It was me._

 

Letter #23 That I Will Never Send To Peter Hale.

 

* * *

  
  


Stiles had been at college for the whole of two weeks when he called Peter for the first time. To be fair it had been almost three months since they last spoke, and all of those times had been awkward/overly polite interactions. At first there was the necessary push and pull that came with Stiles needing to retrieve his things from Peter’s house. Later there was a rather strained conversation between them, primarily about Stiles promising that he had in fact deleted all the inappropriate photos of Peter that he had snapped over the course of their relationship. And of course one memorable/awful moment when Stiles had run into Peter at the movie theatre. The man had offered to change his tickets so they didn’t have to share a screen. And although Stiles accepted the offer, he felt like a dickhead because of it.

 

Leaving for college had felt like the healthiest option in the end. Stiles had been building up to the big move for most of the year. Although Stiles had many times that year threatened to put off his application altogether and just stay in Beacon Hills for a second year running, (much to Peter’s chagrin at the time,) he had applied to all the institutions recommended to him, and even visited most of the open days and tours. When it had finally come to it, leaving in the wake of their relationship breakdown felt like the best thing he could do for himself. Beacon Hills was a very small town, and the werewolf-aware contingent was a very small subset of people. (A very small, gossipy group of people, who did not leave things alone.)

 

Peter’s presence had haunted nearly every quarter of Stiles’ life in Beacon Hills, and not just emotionally. There was barely a coffee shop nor park bench that wasn't indebted to their relationship. In many ways, leaving had felt like his only option to get out of that shadow. At times Stiles had felt like this was all part of Peter’s elaborate plan. A large subsection of their relationship breakdown had orientated around Stiles’ apparent need to ‘spread his wings.’ Peter had always been a strong voice for Stiles’ leaving the west coast completely, let one the little town they lived in. The discussion had become a constant sticking point between them. And in regards to how the arguments went, Stiles had never truly gotten over his suspicion that Peter had made some calls to help ease Stiles’ Harvard acceptance.

 

( _“You’re brilliant Stiles, and you’ve got the grades. Why can’t you just believe that you got in on your own merit?” Peter had stressed._

 

 _“Because I know you have friends who went there! Or work there! Or something. Like, isn’t it a_ bit _convenient that you spend all that time trying to convince me to apply. And lo and behold, I get in!”_

 

_“I spent all that time supporting you because I knew you could get in, sweetheart.”_

 

 _“Don’t call me sweetheart when we’re arguing! It gives you an unfair advantage!!!”_ )

 

In the end, Stiles had stuck to his guns and opted for Stanford. Peter - often egged on by Stiles’ own father - had constantly stressed that being so close to Beacon Hills would provide Stiles with too much temptation to return home at the drop of any supernatural-styled hat, and that putting more miles between himself and the magic-infested nexus would help him focus on his studies. Stiles had always hated the idea however. He wanted to be able to come home whenever he felt like it, to still feel like he was part of Scott’s pack, and that his father was just a drive away.

 

There was also the fact that Stiles’ leaving to go so far from Beacon Hills had suggested that he and Peter would be breaking up.

 

Not that it mattered in the end; Stiles had gone to Stanford, and they had still broken up. In fact, they’d broken up before Stiles had even decided he’d actually be going to college. The roots and truth of their break up went deeper than simply where and when Stiles would go to study. And like most horridly rotten things, Stiles left them in a cupboard to mold over and breed in the dark. Probably low-key poisoning him and all of his plans. (Stiles had been sharing a student kitchen for those two weeks at college, and had quickly learnt that he was one of the few students who knew how to cook without threatening to burn the kitchen down. And that his messiness was nothing compared to that of his dorm mates. So yes, there were quite a few nightmares rotting in the corner of cupboards at the moment, and Stiles had no wish nor want to disturb them.)

 

Orientation week had been fantastic for Stiles though, he had thrived in the high octane socialising environment, with so many people milling around and actively looking to make friends. Sure, there was clearly a fair share of high school-level assholes about (at one point Stiles was certain he could actually hear Jackson talking at a party, but it was just another jock) but for the most part, Stiles was surrounded by people who were just plain old excited to be there.

 

His phone book had blown up in the first few days, so many people finding his slightly awkward yet enthusiastic personality quirks interesting. And suddenly, he was surrounded by people who had never done anything before: never had independence, never had to cook themselves dinner, never had to think their way out of a life and death situation. Some of them had never even failed a class before: leaving Stiles in the position of exciting, worldly, wise even. It had made him feel simultaneously too old and too young. Like for all his superior life experiences it had cost him something significant: a “normal”’ teenage experience.

 

All of those factors probably contributed to Stiles’ calling Peter that night, two weeks into orientation (five days before classes officially started). Although if Stiles was going to be perfectly honest, it had more to do with the litre of Southern Comfort he’d ingested that night, and the trials and tribulations that came alongside it.

  


“Pick up, please pick up.” Stiles jabbered down the line, talking over the obnoxious noise of a phone ringing on his cell. He had his bare back pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, his legs still tucked underneath him from when he had crumpled to the floor. To his left was the plastic mock-wood finish of the sink cabinet, which his shoulder was jammed into, giving him the feeling of being sequestered in the corner.

 

“Please pick up--”

 

“Hello, Stiles?” Peter’s voice was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over Stiles’ raw nerves, the voice as deep and steady as it had always been. And Stiles was incredulous that he had ever forgotten what it had sounded like.

 

“Peter… Peter, I need you to come get me,” Stiles had let out, tears welling up in his eyes, and his voice cracking.

 

“Stiles! What’s going on? Where are you?” Although they were definitely miles apart, the line was crisp and clear. As if Stiles really was just down the road from Peter, and they could hop in the car and be at one another’s house within minutes.

 

“I’m in a bathroom.”

 

“Whose bathroom? Have you taken anything?”

 

“What? No--” Stiles asked, slightly confused at the left field question “--I haven’t taken anything.”

 

“Ok. Why are you slurring your words?”

 

“Oh. I drank quite a lot. I’m kinda’ sober now, or I thought I was… ”

 

“What’s the threat Stiles? Can you get out of there safely?”

 

Stiles began crying down the phone line, surprised that he hadn’t let any tears hit him before now.

 

“I--I had sex with someone.”

 

“What!?” Peter’s voice sounded suddenly very loud and incredulous. “Did you want to?”

 

“I mean… yes.” Stiles realised how much of a mess this conversation was. The pokey little bathroom he was in had nothing much in it beside the sink cabinet, the toilet, and a drab shower cubicle. The tiles were still a maniacal white colour - as if over the summer, industrial cleaners had been employed to scour off any trace of the previous tenant - but there was absolutely zero personal artefacts in the room beyond a rather sad looking green bath mat on the floor.

 

“I came in here to have sex with someone. I wanted to get over you.”

 

Stiles heard a noise down the other end of the phone, he wasn’t completely sure if it came from Peter, or some object meeting its untimely end. He didn’t know if he was happy that he’d made Peter unhappy, or that was just further evidence of how much of a fuck up he was.

 

“Ok… Ok. Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

 

Stiles cried a little bit harder, “kinda…”

 

“Oh, sweetheart.”

 

“I guess I never really got how considerate you were--” the music from downstairs changed from the obnoxious house music that had been playing all night, to something more rock-y and chilled out. Suggesting, at least, that the party had subdued somewhat. “--I never considered that someone might… might not care how it felt for me.”

 

“That is a lesson I would have preferred you never learned.” Peter’s voice was so soft, Stiles felt himself lean into it like it was an embrace.

 

“And now I’m in this horrible bathroom. And my shirt is like… ruined from when he--” Stiles swallowed his words, before carrying on, “and I just want to come home. Will you come and get me? I can text you the address.”

 

“Stiles, I never wanted anything like this to happen to you, when you went away to college. You know that right?”

 

“Yeah, yes of course. Are you going to come? How long do you think it’ll take?” Stiles was already planning how he was going to get out of there, maybe he would have to sneak into one of the bedrooms in the house, find a shirt, to hide the embarrassment of walking downstairs half-clothed.

 

“No. I’m sorry I can’t.”

 

It was like being slapped. “What? Peter! Why?”

 

“I’m sorry sweet--” Peter sighed again, “you should call your father. Or Scott. One of them will come get you.”

 

Stiles started crying hard, “Peter, please. I’m sorry I called you. I promise I won’t do it again--just this one time, please--”

 

“I’m going to hang up now, Stiles. Call your father. Take care of yourself.”

 

The line went dead.

 

Stiles felt like the paltry remnants of his heart had been torn out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, welcome to the (long awaited, and surprisingly highly demanded) sequel to 'the break up fic'.  
> Apparently this one is also going to be a slap in the face emotions wise, but, as i promised, it is a slow build up to a happy ending.
> 
> I have about 4k more written of this story, and will update as I feel like what I've written won't need to be edited later.
> 
> Thank you as always, please kudos/comment, it helps keep fic writers writing (:  
> (sorry for any sadness that may be incurred by reading this fic)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets to grip with what it means to live without contact from Peter, and the aftereffects of his hazardess first hook up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments.  
> This chapter is a bit smutty, so please read all the tags & have a look at the warnings (spoilers) at the end.

 

_ I have never been one for that idea that someone ‘wins’ a break up. But if I did believe it existed, I’d think it’d fall on whomever did the actual *breaking up* bit.  _

 

_ Like lots of other things I didn’t really understand until dating, loving, and losing, you… This isn’t really the case. _

 

_ I was definitely the one who said that we have to break up, I remember the words. I remember the moment. I remember exactly what it was that pushed me over the edge. I broke us up.  _

 

_ It was me. _

 

_ But relationships don’t really work like that. I quickly learned something in those days of break up fall out that we had. That although I was the one that called this whole thing off, you were the one who had checked out. You were the one who had been building an exit plan in our relationship.  _

 

_ You were the one who didn’t need me anymore.  _

 

_ And fuck does that just kill me.  _

 

_ The idea that in the story that is Your Life, the person that is Me fading out of influence is a Good Thing. _

 

_ It’s like realising all your fears at once. That the people you love, and who love you, are in a better place without you.  _

 

_ Was I always this wretched? Was I always this self consumed? Was there ever a time when our relationship wasn’t just you constantly carrying me?  _

 

_ I want to think so. _

 

_ But then I remember how you looked at me in those last weeks. How tired you were of me, of us, of your role in our relationship. I remember how you just wanted me to be quiet, to stop asking, to stop complaining. I remember how all our conversations just morphed into one perpetual petition of me wanting you.  _

 

_ I can’t have always been this way.  _

 

_ And I’m praying that I won’t stay like this.  _

 

_ Because if someone like you couldn’t hack it, you who had already fallen for me by the time I managed to spew this all over us. How am I supposed to have any faith that someone will ever want me again? _

 

Letter #56 That I Will Never Send To Peter Hale.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Stiles was only really celibate for about a month (one month, two weeks to be exact) before he managed to get to a place where he could let  _ that night _ go, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t gotten to him. He also hadn’t tried to contact Peter again since the disastrous phone call, and he was keen to keep it that way. When Scott and Derek had driven down to visit him a few weekends later, (apparently in his absence the two had become halfway decent friends. A fact that made him a curious mixture of delighted and sad.) he had quietly asked them not to talk him about Peter. 

Out the corner of his eye he’d seen Derek purse his lips in response. The reaction had prickled at Stiles’ self restraint to the point he’d almost switched tracks and  _ begged  _ Derek to tell him what exactly he knew about the situation, but it wasn’t really what he wanted. Thankfully the rest of the weekend had gone by without a hiccup, Stiles deriving a strange pleasure from being able to play tour guide to them both, showing them all his haunts, and introducing them to his new friends.

 

It was strange, like a clashing of cultures, and there were a few times Stiles was scared Scott was going to say something disparaging about it all. 

 

But in the end his best friend had just put a solid hand on Stiles’ shoulder and said, “you’re doing great. I knew you would, but it’s so awesome to see you thriving out here.” Hearing those words had felt like the best gift. Stiles had felt like he was putting to bed some of his greatest worries. 

 

Hooking up with someone was still proving to be difficult however. Stiles hadn’t written women off all together (come on, he didn’t just make up his Lydia love affair) but he was comfortably in a place where he felt like he preferred men romantically. Which clashed kinda’ horridly with the fact that he wasn’t really sure how comfortable he was actually sleeping with them anymore.

 

He’d worked himself up to it a few times. Downloading grindr, and promptly uninstalling it again when he received no less than five dick pics. (‘8 inch Dan’, is less that 8 feet from you, aka. probably in the same building somewhere. No thanks!) On a few nights out with friends he had kissed someone, going so far as to do some heavy petting on a grimy dance floor. “You wanna’ take this home?” “I’m good, have a great night though.” But there wasn’t that much pressure. 

 

Stiles had quickly realised that loads of his new friends hadn’t ever been in actual relationships, or even been particularly sexually active. In fact, when he told his friend Elizabeth that he’d already been in a two year relationship she had looked shocked. “When did you find the time?” Stiles looked back over his years of life-threatening experiences, magical hijinks, and family stresses, and wondered the same thing. 

 

Maybe it had had something to do with just how weird Stiles’ teenage years were, that he’d found himself on the other side of a long term relationship, whereas the majority of his peers hadn’t. If Stiles was honest with himself, if it wasn’t for the werewolf-mania overtaking his teenage years, coupled with the near-death bonding moments and the countless hours Stiles and Peter had been cooped up together researching for the pack… would Stiles even have dated Peter?

 

It was a difficult thing to think about, since Stiles’ normal go-to for these Big Questions was Peter. Peter, who was knowledgeable, and patient, and would probably help him digest these big revelations. Instead he just had his painfully inexperienced new friends, who thought long term relationships were novel, and that werewolves were the stuff of fantasies. 

 

“Fuck man, I wish I could go back in time and tell my high school self that one day I’d be the one in my social group who was known for having had loads of sex,” Stiles said with a laugh.

 

“Dude, I wish I could go back and tell myself that I was gay, and not to worry so much about trying to get a girlfriend.” Ashton, one of Stiles’ friends from econ class, was sprawled out on his bed, their text books spread out in front of him from when they had previously been trying to get their reading done. Stiles’ crisp green bed sheets clashing horridly with the boy’s red shorts, albeit complimenting his warm umber skin tone. 

 

Stiles quirked his lip in a smile, “hah, yeah. Same. Although, I don’t think it would have stopped me mooning over girls.”

 

“Yeah, I still moon over girls. But now it’s more for like… their hair, their clothes, and their lack of time for straight men.” 

 

“You wear girls’ clothes?” Stiles asked, trying to imagine Ashton in a dress, and failing miserably.

 

“Sometimes. Girls’ jeans make my ass look fantastic, same with shorts. And they have all the best crop tops.” 

 

Stiles looked down at his own outfit, he still wore his typical flannel shirt and jeans combination. “Yeah, I think the only girls’ clothes I’d wear would be from butch lesbians.” 

 

Ashton snorted, “this is why you haven’t fucked anyone since being at college Stiles. Your clothes are giving out mixed signals.”

 

“I don’t need to wear girls’ underwear to hook up.”

 

“Speak for yourself, girls’ underwear is the best. I wear satin panties whenever I get the chance.”

 

Stiles looked up from where he had been rummaging in his desk trying to find the phone to laptop cord while they were chatting. “You’re wearing them now?”

 

Ashton gave Stiles a really slow smile that completely changed the tone of their conversation, gently - but with purpose - he rolled onto his back so he could undo the flies of his shorts. The russet denim quickly revealed glossy purple underwear - which were indeed satin - that hung closely and provocatively to the boy’s package.

 

Without even consciously thinking about it, Stiles had gotten out of his chair and knelt on the bed, his hand reaching out to touch the silky fabric, and his eyes dilating when he felt the hidden prick shift under his touch. 

 

“Ok, they look good.”

 

“Want to see more?” Ashton asked, already pushing the denim shorts further down his thighs, revealing the rest of the v-shaped underwear. The cloth was small enough that now Ashton’s cock was plumping up, the tip was peaking out the side. The shiny wet top was a paler shade than the rest of his prick, drawing Stiles’ eye to it.

 

Stiles slipped his fingers under the side of the underwear, the elastic lining causing the material to drag obviously along the line of Ashton’s cock. It caused the boy to whine, and revealed the rest of the erection. Stiles licked his lips subconsciously, imaging the cut head against his pursed lips.

 

“So, we’re gonna’ fuck right?” Ashton asked, his own hand drifting up Stiles’ still covered chest, pausing over where Stiles’ nipple was hidden.

 

Stiles had a split second moment of uncertainty. He liked Ashton, he trusted him to not be a dick about sex, in fact he was probably the perfect person to aid Stiles in getting over his current hang ups about sex. But a moment of nerves passed through him as he thought about  _ that night. _

 

“Yeah, I want to top though,” Stiles said suddenly, and a little rushed. His skin felt warm in reaction to the question.  _ ‘It must be obvious to everyone I’ve never topped before, he’s going to say no _ ’ his head supplied with a twist of paranoid self-deprecation.

 

“Sure,” Ashton said, not missing a beat, “I’d want to you eat me out first though?”

 

Stiles eyebrows went up, but he nodded - slightly dumbly - all the same. Ashton quickly got his shorts all the way off, and with a lascivious grin, he pushed the satin panties down just past the bubble curve of his arse. 

 

Stiles had never eaten a guy out. It seemed stupid all of a sudden, but he had only ever been with one person. One person who was older, and knew all these things about sex, and was the one who introduced them. And Stiles had never even thought to ask to top, he’d never even considered offering to give Peter a rim job. It was positively laughable, that so many of their sex acts were so horrifically one sided.

 

Stiles let his hand glide over the soft globe of Ashton’s arse, the boy giving a little sigh of delight and thrusting his obvious erection into the bed covers below. A sign of encouragement if Stiles had ever seen one.

 

‘ _ Just do what you enjoyed _ ’ Stiles advised himself, sticking his own fingers in his mouth so they were moist. ‘ _ You’ve actually done this hundreds of times, just do it in reverse _ ’.

 

With a look of determination, he let those near-damp fingers just coast up and down the guy’s cleft. Stiles’ blunt nails allowed the curved tips of his fingers bump gently over the boy’s hole, pausing for a second at his sensitive taint, before returning the journey up again.

 

He thought about Peter doing this to him, sometimes spending forever just stroking, petting and encouraging Stiles to moan out his pleas for more. From the first time he had ever had sex, Stiles had been given a thorough and memorable rim jobs. If they had stayed together, Stiles might never have considered the fact that this wasn’t standard fair.

 

Stiles let his hand grip one of the cushioned cheeks and drag the globes apart, leaving the boy’s hole more open to him. When his fingers coasted back down again, they dipped a little further inside. Ashton squealed slightly, probably slightly oversensitive from Stiles’ fingers that had gone dry and rough in their ministrations.

 

“Tell me if you like this.” Stiles voice sounded a little bit rough - possibly from nerves, but also from excitement - as he rearranged himself his he was laying on his stomach, perched up on his elbows.

 

Ashton moaned loudly as Stiles’ lips sat pursed against the sensitive skin between that boy’s sack and his hole, and Stiles sucked languidly. He let his mouth drift down and pop one of the balls in his mouth, saliva from his mouth sliding down to wet the boy’s untouched cock.

 

“Fuck - Stiles - yes, yes I like this.”

 

Stiles sat up more, quickly dragging Ashton's satin underwear completely off, and leaned over the boy's prone form so could angle himself better. He pushed his tongue between the hard balls, making them separate, before dragging his tongue back up to Ashton’s hole. He let one of his hands drift to cup the now incredibly wet sac, massaging them and letting his hand drift down now and again to stimulate the base of Ashton’s cock.

 

 With his tongue he began strong long laps that went from the boy’s taint, up over his entrance, and then along his cleft. He tried to keep the rhythm steady and slow, the kind of intense but not enough stimulation that Peter would always give him that would drive him crazy.

 

Ashton was keening, trying to buck his arse back onto Stiles’ tongue each time the pointed tip tripped over his hole, whining when inevitably is moved on. 

 

“Please, fuck, that feels so good. Oh, oh, fuck that’s, that’s good.”

 

Suddenly Stiles stopped over the boy’s hole, and pushed his tongue against the sensitive entrance. Stiles began sucking lewdly on the puffy flesh, the noise only drowned out by Ashton’s keens. Peter had always surprised him like this, often pushing in two fingers alongside, and numerous times in their relationship Stiles had started cumming straight away. With his own hand however he began squeezing quicker on the boy’s balls, massaging them in a quick circle, and repeatedly pulling them away from Ashton’s body. 

 

Ashton was trying to fuck his cock into the bed spread, and it made Stiles grin. He knew that pain, he’d done it countless times, Peter giving nothing but his hole attention while his prick throbbed. In response Stiles dragged Ashton up onto his knees so he couldn’t get the friction he wanted, the boy sobbed silently in mourning, but then instantly started crying in pleasure as the new angle allowed Stiles to fuck his tongue into the hole proper. 

 

With his thumb Stiles began to rub up and down the boy’s taint, each time getting closer to where his mouth was sucking and licking into the boy’s entrance. Stiles got into a rhythm of fucking Ashton with his tongue and then alternating with pushing the surprisingly thick girth of his thumb into the wet hole. Each time he pulled on the flesh a little, opening up the entrance to him, so he could lick further inside.

 

Ashton was swearing litanies in response, “fuck, fucking hell. That’s so good. Keep going, keep going, FUCK.” 

 

Stiles could now fit three fingers in on every slip up of his hand, Ashton’s hole, taint & crotch was soaking wet, and the flesh was lax and gaping to his ministrations. 

 

“Stiles, Stiles, if you keep going I’m gonna’ cum.” Ashton whined up as Stiles fucked him a few times with three fingers, the fourth just threatening to slide in, Stiles’ tongue lapping around them.

 

“Yeah? Wanna fuck now?”

 

“Yes, yes! Now!”

 

Stiles scrambled to his bedside cabinet and grabbed a condom and a bottle of lube. Haphazardly he squeezed some over the boy’s cleft - Ashton was already sopping wet, any more lube at this point was just precautionary - pushing some inside with two fingers before moving on to the condom, Stiles fingers slipping over the metal edge of the packet a few times.

 

He hissed as the tight condom slipped down his dick - he’d barely ever had to wear them in the past - and had mostly used them for posh wanks by himself. 

 

When he positioned his cock to Ashton’s hole he felt a little sheepish, “I should warn you, I don’t know how long I’m going to last.” He didn’t want to admit this was the first time he had fucked someone, but it seemed better to at least admit his sensitivity to what was gonna happen.

 

“Fuck, Stiles, you and me both. I’m literally about cum. Just go for it.”

 

Ashton’s hole was open and wet to him, and as Stiles begun to push home he slid all the way in. 

 

“Jesus fucking christ, you feel amazing.” Stiles bit out, he literally couldn’t believe how exquisitely hot and tight it was on his dick. Sure, head had always felt amazing, and he had truly  _ loved  _ getting fucked by Peter. But this was a league of its own.

 

“Please, you can fuck me. I’m good.” Ashton responded, obviously assuming that Stiles was pausing for him, and not because Stiles mind had just been blown in regards to the full remit of sex.

 

Stiles pulled out and snapped his hips forward a few times, focusing on the way that his on balls slapped against Ashton’s, and trying to hold on for dear life as Ashton dipped his back low and began to buck back into him.

 

Stiles was certain he was going to cum first, but then all of a sudden Ashton started groaning louder, one of his hands disappearing under him, and his hole suddenly clamping down on his Stiles’ dick.

 

“I’m cumming,” the boy shouting, “yes, fuck, yes, yes, yes.”

 

It felt fucking amazing. Without even thinking of the effort of it, Stiles started fucking into the boy below him harder, leaning forward so the angle changed and he could feel more pressure around the tip of his cock.

 

“Fuck, you’re amazing. Fuck that feels good. That feels good. Fuck, yes, I’m, fuck  _ yes. _ ”

 

And then he too was cumming, his hips snapping forward at a pace he thought impossible, as he tried his best to fuck his cum as high up as possible into Ashton’s arse.

 

Finally, after what felt like forever, he collapsed onto his side. Out of breath in a way he’d never been before after sex, his cock tensing and pulsing like it wasn’t quite sure what was going on. His body was damp with sweat, and his balls ached from how hard he’d cum. On the whole, he was well and truly wrecked.

 

Ashton leaned over him and kissed him deeply, before collapsing on his back too and letting out a laugh.

 

“Well, that was pretty fucking awesome.”

 

“Yeah.” Was all Stiles could answer, hissing a little at the feeling as he pulled off soiled condom - tying it - and throwing it in the direction of the bin. Ashton leaned up and patted Stiles dick, causing him to whine at the over sensitivity. “Good job” Ashton whispered at Stiles cock.

 

“Are you talking to my dick?”

 

“Yeah, I wanted it to know how proud I am of it.”

 

Stiles let out a trill of laughter, pulling Ashton closer to him so he could kiss him again. He slipped his hand up between the boy’s legs and patted the boy’s wet hole. “Good job” he murmered in Ashton’s mouth, causing him to laugh.

 

“That was really good though.” Ashton smiled at him, his eyes bright and happy, “your ex must have fucking loved you eating him out. You were amazing.”

 

Stiles stomach did an uncomfortable flip flop at the thought. It wasn't that he had forgotten about Peter during the sex - in some ways he’d been thinking about him the whole time - but something about the intimate nature of him and Ashton, and the awkward reminder of just how little… Giving, he’d offered in his past relationship, made him sad deep in his chest.

 

He smiled through it, “it was a two man effort, you were pretty brilliant yourself.”

 

Ashton rolled his eyes and slumped back down on Stiles chest, “next time I’m sucking your dick first, to at least make things even.”

 

The whole event had given Stiles a lot to think about, but he pushed it out his mind as Ashton began describing some music venue he was attending that night, and the pros and cons of why they should go. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (spoilers)  
> Lots of graphic sex. I have the habit of writing 'boy' when I mean two young adults, everyone is above age in the fic.   
> Stiles sleeps with someone other than Peter (omc) and thinks about Peter during. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Although this chapter starts off a bit sad (sorry, as always) I think it at least ends on a kinda' nice note.
> 
> Kudos & comments are always appreciated (:


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